


Alive and Kicking

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Recovery, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: Steve smiled. “Think you could handle a little one on one? We could just play to six points, or something?”Something really light and bubbly started floating in Billy’s chest that Steve took notice of Billy’s improvement in his recovery. Steve was able to gauge how much would be too much for Billy when it came to moving day -- how many boxes Billy could carry and how long Billy would need for breaks. He noticed when Billy was short of breath and slowed his pace without saying  a word. And he even helped Billy with his rehab exercises. “Alright. Don’t know if I’ll be able to wipe the concrete with your ass like I used to, but if you don’t plant those goddamn chicken wings in my ribs maybe I might have a shot.”Steve held his hands up in the air. “First of all -- I’veneverchickenwinged you. Maybe if you didn’t ram into me like a coked-up raging metalhead mulleted bull, my elbows wouldn’t eventouchyour delicate skin. Second -- fine. No elbows. I promise.”Billy felt a bit of fire stir in his gut at Steve’s words. He stuck his tongue out and gave his lips a nice, long lick.Steve trailed the motion with his eyes.“Fine. You’re on, pretty boy.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 41
Kudos: 183





	Alive and Kicking

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to flippyspoon for the prompt!

Billy tiptoed into the kitchen and slowly pulled on the fridge door. It opened with a little snick. He lifted the pitcher of Kool-Aid, pouring the liquid directly against the inside wall of his cup, then snuck into the living room. He sank down bit by bit onto the couch -- a risky move, since it was secondhand (just like all the other things in Billy and Steve’s apartment) and the springs groaned whenever anyone sat down. 

He’d been living with Steve for two months now, and everything so far had been going fucking fantastic. Disagreements were solved quickly, communication was open, and respect was given for each other’s space and belongings. There might have been a few nights when they sat a little too close together on the couch -- arms brushing, knees touching -- but he honestly wasn’t trying to read too much into that. And he certainly wasn’t looking to ruin any of their newfound shangri-la with his late-night angst fests.

He took a long drink from his cup and thought he was in the clear, but then Steve appeared at his elbow and plopped down next to him on the couch. 

“Hey,” Billy said. “Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.” 

“Nah. It wasn’t you. I’m a light sleeper.” Steve yawned and stretched with a loud groan, looking adorably sleep-rumpled in his MSU t-shirt and boxers. “What time is it?”

“Ah -- it’s almost two am.”

“So fucking late. Couldn’t sleep, or something?”

Billy looked down at the cup between his fingers. His knee-jerk reaction was to lie and try and take the easy route, just agree with Steve that yeah in fact he couldn’t sleep and pile on top of that lie. It would make Steve comfortable. There would be no awkwardness. The whole thought was _tempting_. 

The inconvenient truth, though, was that they’d been so _honest_ with each other lately. That was the biggest shift in the relationship they’d built since Billy was released from the hospital. Steve had visited Billy’s bedside the entire time he was there and continued to visit while he was recovering on Cherry Lane. 

After three weeks at home, Billy was only just starting to think he couldn’t live much longer under Neil’s wary eye. Neil’s barbs grew more and more irritable and Billy knew it would only be a matter of time before Neil exploded. 

So he started jotting down hypothetical budgets for a one-bedroom apartment when Steve told Billy one day that he was thinking of getting a little place and thought maybe it would be something they could do together -- get out of their parents’ homes, find a two-bedroom apartment, and split the expenses. 

The offer was great, but the thought of living with someone who he’d been testing being emotionally open with felt even better. In the hospital, under the influence of painkillers, his lips were loosened and he told Steve a bunch of shit he wouldn’t under his previous bravado. In a darkened room lit only by blue and green monitor lights, there were confessions of sadness and insecurity, how threatened he was by Steve, how much he wanted actually to _impress_ Steve but had fucked it all up every time he opened his mouth. On days when he felt sad, he made no effort to hide it from Steve. And on days when he felt like being friendly, he joked and smiled with Steve with no front of machismo or fear of rejection. 

Steve responded in kind by smiling more, inviting confidence, receiving Billy with warmth and compassion. 

Honestly, Billy hadn’t felt this kind of connection with anyone since his mother. 

So sitting here on the couch, the choice seemed clear. It was easier to think about it than to execute, though. Breaking an entire adolescence built around hiding his feelings was _difficult_. 

He sighed. “I just woke up from this fucking nightmare that I get sometimes, where I’m back at Brimborn in the cellar. It’s cool, dark, and dirty down there. I’m looking into the eyes of this woman who’s got her wrists bound with rope and duct tape on her mouth, squirming and terrified. She looks at me like I’m about to kill her. In my dream the monster controls my body -- it says the words and gets her ready, but from that sunken place where my actual mind watches everything happen, I’m screaming. I scream until my throat’s raw. I start crying and screaming, man, because I don’t wanna hurt her. I just want this to fucking _stop_. And that’s how I woke up a few minutes ago.”

Steve puffed a breath. “Jesus. _Wow_. That’s gotta feel horrible.” 

Billy nodded and looked down at the cup. He felt tears starting to well in the corners of his eyes and his throat thickened. Again his first reaction was to bury the emotions -- but then he let the tears fall anyway. A choked sob escaped his throat. He ran his hand down over his face. 

“Hey,” Steve’s voice said softly, and the next thing he knew, Steve’s arms were around his shoulders, pulling him sideways. Billy shifted to face Steve and pushed his face against Steve’s shoulder while he felt Steve’s arms tighten around his back. He sobbed again as Steve’s fingers were stroking the back of his head. 

Anger and pain washed through his body as he wept -- and he wept _hard_. A couple of his sobs were so hard that his chest hurt from it -- aches from his injuries made worse from the jarring motions of crying. He let himself grieve for what his own body did in July while Steve held him, breath fanned over the shell of his ear. “It’s okay, Billy. I got you. I got you. You’re safe now.” 

A few minutes passed as Billy felt the comfort of the weight of Steve’s arms around his shoulders -- the pressure of his embrace grounding and warm. Steve repeated his words of comfort. The skin at the base of Steve’s neck smelled heady and musky with sleep. Billy closed his eyes and felt himself pay attention to the smell of him and the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest. 

Eventually Billy’s shoulders stopped shaking and his chest stopped heaving. 

Steve’s hands slid down to Billy’s shoulders, and he pulled back a bit. “I get fucked up dreams too, y'know? Nightmares where like the Upside Down is coming for me -- like it’s seeking me out or something. The lights would flicker out at work, and then pollen started floating. Demogorgons burst through the walls. I wake up from those and just can’t sleep again for hours.” Steve’s fingers flex on Billy’s shoulder. “It’s shitty that we’ve had to deal with this.” 

“Yeah,” Billy said. Finally his voice seemed back to normal. “Shit’s worse than horror films. It’s like living through the actual Evil Dead or something.” 

Steve’s hand remained on his shoulder. “Hey, are you tired? Like at all?”

Billy shook his head. He couldn’t feel tired -- not with Steve’s hands still on his body. “Nah. I’m catchin’ a second wind, I think.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Steve smiled. “Think you could handle a little one on one? We could just play to six points, or something?” 

Something really light and bubbly started floating in Billy’s chest that Steve took notice of Billy’s improvement in his recovery. Steve was able to gauge how much would be too much for Billy when it came to moving day -- how many boxes Billy could carry and how long Billy would need for breaks. He noticed when Billy was short of breath and slowed his pace without saying a word. And he even helped Billy with his rehab exercises. “Alright. Don’t know if I’ll be able to wipe the concrete with your ass like I used to, but if you don’t plant those goddamn chicken wings in my ribs maybe I might have a shot.” 

Steve held his hands up in the air. “First of all -- I’ve _never_ chickenwinged you. Maybe if you didn’t ram into me like a coked-up raging metalhead mulleted bull, my elbows wouldn’t even _touch_ your delicate skin. Second -- fine. No elbows. I promise.” 

Billy felt a bit of fire stir in his gut at Steve’s words. He stuck his tongue out and gave his lips a nice, long lick. 

Steve trailed the motion with his eyes.

“Fine. You’re on, pretty boy.”

~*~

The cool night air bit at Billy’s skin through his thin t-shirt. It felt invigorating. Being out on a basketball court in the middle of the night lit by two cones of light thrown by two street lamps and finally feeling up to playing basketball again awakened some playful, shit-talking part of Billy that had been long asleep.

Steve offered to let Billy have first possession, but Billy refused. “Ain’t no fuckin pussy, compadre. I don’t need your charity.” He shoved the ball against Steve’s chest with a little smile. “Now come the fuck on, would ya already?” 

“Your funeral man,” Steve said, grinning. 

Billy took a strong defensive stance, crouched, feet planted firm as he anticipated Steve’s movements toward the basket. He leered at Steve as Steve dribbled and tried to work out a way to get around Billy, but Billy tried to be obnoxious about it, tongue wagging, trying to distract Steve. 

Steve faked left then stepped right before he took a jump shot. The ball bounced off the rim with a clang. 

“Ooo. Watch that elbow, pretty boy. You gotta pull that shit _in_ when you make your shot.” 

Steve collected the ball and threw it over to Billy. “Just being nice, y’know? I don’t wanna like, humiliate you or anything.” 

“Good. I’m not really into humiliation. If you wanna tell me I’m a good boy though, please. By all means.” Billy started moving toward the net with the ball, dribbling as Steve moved in front of him with light steps. “You’re playing defense like Baryshnikov. Did you forget what I told you my first day at Hawkins High? Because you’ve had more than a year to think about it.” 

Steve started pressing forward into Billy, a little grin on his face. “Mm, what were you talking about then? All the bitches in the sea, or some bullshit?” 

Billy rolled around Steve and took the ball up to the net for a pretty little layup. “Yeah. Well. Thought I was a real ladies’ man or something.” He collected the ball and returned to the starting point. 

Steve took his position again in front of Billy with a little confused frown. “You -- weren’t a ladies’ man? Because I heard that you fucked, like, not only half the school but a few of the moms as well.” 

Billy started moving forward hard with the ball this time, and Steve seemed taken aback -- he wasn’t quite quick enough to mirror Billy’s movements, so Billy was easily able to take a little jump shot and make the basket with Steve lagging a step behind. “Two to zero.” 

Steve turned to face Billy as Billy collected the rebound, hands on his hips. His frown deepened. _That_ pose -- the one that said Billy was in for it. “You’re avoiding the question, Billy.” 

Billy moved back into the starting position, but Steve didn’t move at all. He just stood there waiting for an answer. “Yeah well. I don’t think you’ll like the answer so. Let’s fuckin play, okay?” 

Steve approached Billy and crouched down, but the frown remained in place. He suddenly seemed much more aggressive with his defence, matching Billy’s pace, arms out, squatting deeply. Billy tried jostling back against Steve, but Steve gave up not one bit of concrete. 

His feet, apparently, were planted fucking firmly to the ground. 

Billy tried taking a shot and missed with a thud on the rim. “Fuck,” he muttered. 

Steve picked up the ball and walked slowly toward the top of the key. He held the ball under his arm on his hip and stood quietly for a moment before speaking. “Why wouldn’t I like your answer? I’ve seen some of the most fucked up shit imaginable. You were skewered by a creature that looked like the lovechild of The Fly and Gozilla and I watched that shit happen. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would shock me.” 

Billy took a squatting stance in front of Steve, hoping Steve would pick up on his queue. Steve started to dribble but stood stock still. “Just forget about it. It’s nothin’. Come on -- will you fuckin move?” 

Steve took a couple of steps forward. “Fine. I’ll play. But how about this -- if I make this shot, you tell me what’s up. If I miss, I’ll drop it. Not one more word.” 

Billy licked his lips. He was _fantastic_ at defense. Steve rarely scored on him when Billy was guarding the basket, so it seemed like an easy goddamn decision. “Alright. Fair deal.” 

Steve smiled, and then came at Billy _hard_. Billy backpedaled, trying to figure out where Steve was going because his footwork was fast and choppy and managed to fool Billy by faking right, pivoting, and cutting left. As much as Billy criticized Steve’s feet on defense, at this moment, Steve left Billy scrambling to catch up. He did a quick little one-two movement with his feet, dipped his shoulder and came up for a jump shot that Billy did _not_ see coming. 

The ball went through the net with a clean little swish. 

“Nothin to it,” Steve said, giving a smirk and a little shrug of his shoulders. 

“The fuck? You even play offense like Baryshnikov,” Billy said. “Footwork like a goddamn ballerina. Why didn’t you ever do that shit at school? Sure as fuck would’ve won a lot more.” 

Billy went and picked up the ball even though it was still Steve’s turn. 

“Billy,” Steve said. He approached Billy and stood closely in front of him. Locks of his brown hair flopped down on his forehead, held there by a thin sheen of sweat. There was a ring of sweat around the collar of his green t-shirt. He had that softness around his eyes -- the same softness that Billy saw in the hospital that invited confidence. The same softness that was there when he asked Billy to move in with him. “If it really bugs you, you don’t have to tell me. I just want you to know that-”

“I’m gay.” Billy blurted out and felt his life flash before his eyes. He felt his soul leaving his body for a moment and was ready to turn and flee in terror. 

Steve’s face remained impassive. 

“I did fuck a bunch of girls at school because I thought the more I did it, the less gay I might feel, or some shit. And then I thought showing off how many chicks I could get would, I don’t know, like, cover up how into dudes I actually was. Like maybe people would say _hey, Billy Hargrove banged two different chicks last weekend, no fuckin way is he gay_. But it didn’t change shit. It only made everything feel more shitty and intense. So I stopped fucking girls. I stopped dating them because I almost died and felt like now’s the time to stop living a lie. So if you wanna like, punch me, or if you want me to pack up my shit and leave the apartment -- I get it.” 

Steve remained still for a moment before a little smile broke on his face. “That’s it? That’s your big secret -- that you’re gay?” 

“Yeah,” Billy said. He couldn’t figure out _why_ Steve wasn’t getting pissed right now. “That’s it. I’m a fuckin queer.” 

Steve nodded and stepped closer -- right into Billy’s face. “You know it’s my turn, right?” 

“Your - what?”

“It’s my _turn_. I get the ball.” Steve reached up to touch Billy’s wrist, fingers ghosting along the skin there. He was close enough that Billy could detail the three little moles on his cheek, even in the sketchy light of the lamp above. Steve’s fingers traced down over the scarred skin on the back of Billy’s right hand. He spread his fingers so that they laid on top of Billy’s. 

Steve’s eyes met Billy’s, and the ball dropped from under Billy’s arm, thudding down the court unnoticed. Steve’s hand didn’t move from its place, but his fingers laced through Billy’s. 

And then Billy felt the pressure of Steve’s other hand against his side, fingers sliding, wrapping around to lay flat on Billy’s back before he gave a little tug. 

Billy stepped forward once, and that was all it took for his lips to meet Steve’s. 

Steve’s hand quickly left Billy’s and found its way up into Billy’s hair as Steve gave Billy the kiss that Billy had been dreaming of since he first laid eyes on Steve in the Hawkins High gym. 

Steve kissed him now -- one of those kisses Billy thought was impossible to ever have. He’d overheard girls in the back of class saying that _when Harrington kisses you, it’s so good that it makes your toes curl_ and Billy felt anger and jealousy boiling inside of his chest. He’d roll his eyes and blurt out some random insult about Harrington because deep down Billy felt he’d never be on the receiving end of it. 

But now he understood exactly how soft Steve’s lips were. Steve was gentle at first -- not forceful at all like Billy had so often been with girls -- then again, Billy kissed them like he had something to prove, not like it was something he wanted to be doing. 

Steve was slow and determined with his mouth, gently returning to kiss, a change of the angle of his head, tracing the line of Billy’s jaw and kept his kisses delicate and light. 

If Billy moaned into Steve’s mouth, well. That shit just couldn’t be helped. 

By the time Steve touched his tongue to Billy’s, Billy felt like he just might melt into the goddamn concrete and forever be a part of this basketball court. 

Steve kissed the corner of Billy’s mouth, then dipped down to place a little kiss on his chin. 

Billy had never felt so delicate in his entire life. He felt as though Steve treated him like porcelain. 

“Was that okay to do? I should’ve asked first. But. I’ve kind of wanted to do that for a long time, so.” The sound of Steve’s voice made Billy realize that the kissing had ended and maybe he should open his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Yeah it was fucking perfect.” 

They drove home with the widows cracked. Steve’s hand was on Billy’s knee as Billy steered with his right hand and ashed his cigarette out the window with his left. 

He clicked on the radio and _Alive and Kicking_ by Simple Minds poured through his speakers -- a little too poppy for his personal tastes, but with the lyrics hitting home and Steve’s fingers carding through his curls, it felt just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


End file.
